How do you have a thoughtful, restful experience in one of the most seemingly dangerous places in the U.S.? It's not easy.

I woke up on the grassy coast of the most southerly point of the continental U.S., on the shore of Florida Bay in Everglades National Park. The stars shown brightly until the sun rose, when a flock of thousands of birds flew in off the coast to eat all the mosquitoes at my campsite.

It was a great start to an dangerous day.

I'd planned on hiking some trails. Nothing too long, just kinda dipping my toe in to see what they were like. I knew I hadn't come to Miami prepared to camp, particularly in a place with all sorts of deadly creatures.

I've hiked all over the U.S., but never in a place with panthers, mosquitoes, spiders, crocodiles, alligators, and other seemingly-dangerous creatures. But nothing was as scary as tropical constrictor snakes, which are all over the park. They kill and swallow much larger prey than me. And any venture into the wild there would have me completely alone in python country.

I was scared.

Even so...I couldn't help but be tempted by one particular trail, 6–7 miles long along the southern coast, that ended in a secluded beach.

My plan: hike in for a little bit to see what it was like, then turn around and get the heck outta dodge.

I parked my car at the trailhead and stepped up to it. The feel? Ominous. But something inside me called me deeper. I couldn't tell if it was the light part, the dark, the adventurous, or the divine speaking to me.

So I decided to go for a legit hike.

It was a categorically idiotic decision, as I didn't have cell phone reception and nobody knew I was hiking that trail. But I felt the pangs inside of me to push into the unknown, the scary.

Over the gate I stepped and began, eyes slowly scanning everything to get an understanding of the layout. From what I knew of pythons and anacondas, they're ambush predators. And unluckily for me, the trail was more like a tunnel than a path, with branches reaching criss-crossed over my head as I walked.

In preparation of my trip, I read up on how to fight off a python. Step 1 was "don't go to places where there are pythons." Damn. Step 2 was basically "don't ever let them wrap around you." Ok, great. So, I strapped a Buck knife on my left hip and carried another knife in my right pocket.

I theoretically prepared for a snake to sink it's teeth into some part of my body, then for me to quickly (I hoped) overcome the shock, reach for the knife on the opposite side, and stab it in the neck as much as possible until it (again, hopefully) died or released me.

Wild triangle cactus, beautiful and edible.

Secretly, I was actually hoping for a strike so I could kill one and drag it back to my campsite to cook it over the fire. But also secretly, I was highly aware that the experience could be quite traumatic and obviously potentially lethal.

Nevertheless, I pressed on.

About three quarters of a mile in, the path led out of the marshy woods and I came into an opening. With it a breath of fresh air buoyed my spirits. Then, I saw a couple hiking a 2-mile loop and I told them who I was and where I'd be going. They hadn't been much further than me, so didn't have much to report, but I felt better. I decided to press on.

Soon after, I blazed past the entry to their loop and into the coastal prairie. There were no trees, and the shrubs were pushed off the trail quite a bit. I felt the safest I had in a while, but...alone.

On and on this went, from coastal woods back to coastal prairie, eyes bouncing everywhere. Many times I thought I was close to the end of the trail only to realize that I was not. About 6 miles in, I knew I was close.

American crocodile, in the water top right.

But as I drew near the beach, the ground (which was under water after Hurricane Irma) was deeply muddy, too much so to pass. So I turned around and made my way back. After a couple miles, I passed people heading in. And I couldn't help but feel steeled in my resolve.

Although I remained vigilant to look for attackers, my anxiety dipped and the beauty of the trail blossomed around me.

The last leg went quickly, as I wasn't so focused on surviving but everything else. And as I came to the end of the trail, I realized how good I felt. Like the end of a great run or a healthy, delicious meal or great conversation with a dear friend.

As the scary melted away, all that was left was the idyllic, and with it the opportunity to explore some of the untrodden places within my own heart.